The two boys are seated on a swing set as they wait for Brad's dad to come pick his son up, their hands still intertwined since they sneaked out of the door of Tristan's house. The curly-haired boy wants so badly to go home with his family and have a long bath in his overly-decorated bathroom, but at the same time Brad doesn't want to leave Tristan and have him go back to his father. "Isn't there something you can do?" the younger boy questions, dragging his feet in the sand beneath him.
"About my dad?" Brad nods causing Tristan to let out a small laugh. "It's just a little slap, Brad. It's not like he cut off my genitals."
Brad frowns. "But it's not right."
"Well, Ghandi, life is full of things that someone wouldn't practically call right," Tristan says, pulling his hand away from Brad and bumping his swing into him.
The sixteen-year-old squeals and grabs onto the chain of Tristan's swing so that they're swaying left to right together. "I'm not Thomas Hobbes anymore?"
"You still are." He grabs onto Brad's swing, too, laughing. "And anyway, I don't think you're intelligent enough to be Ghandi."
The younger boy pouts. "Meanie."
"Aw." Tristan smiles at him before jumping off his swing and falling onto the sand. Brad bursts out into laughter as he picks himself up, brushing sand off his clothes. "Shush, Hobbes."
He laughs in response and kicks more sand at him causing the older boy to glare at him. "By the way," Brad says, pushing himself forward, " I forgot to tell you thank you."
The older boy walks up to his swing and grabs onto the chains. "Thank you?"
"For helping me a while ago," he explains, "and understanding."
"You don't have to thank me for that, Brad."
"I wanted to, anyway."
Tristan bites his lip. "And I wanted to tell you sorry that my dad ruined our night."
"That's not your fault, Tris." Tristan just shrugs and loosens his grip on Brad's chains, allowing him to swing away from him. The sixteen-year-old tightens his own grip on the chains to prevent himself from falling off. "What was that all about, anyway?"
"Apparently the wine bottle I opened cost a lot of money, and my dad wasn't planning on opening it anytime soon," he replies, catching the younger boy when he swings back into him before letting him swing away again. "Somehow I was supposed to automatically know that."
"I'm sorry," Brad apologises. He wishes he could say more, but an apology is the only words he can seem to come up with.
"Don't apologise. He's just an asshole. Everything is fine, really."
"How about this: my mum's a social worker, we could go to her about your dad and -"
Tristan shakes his head. "That's not necessary, Brad."
"But -"
"Let's not talk about it anymore, yeah?"
The curly-haired boy stares at him desperately before letting out a sigh and reluctantly nodding his head, defeated. "Yeah - okay."
"Or ever."
"Or ever," he confirms, still nodding his head.
Tristan catches his chains again and smiles, blue eyes boring into brown. "I'm really glad we had a chance to be together tonight," he softly tells him.
Brad smiles back at him, his heart wildly beating at how wonderfully the moonlight illuminates the older boy's face. "Yeah, me, too."
"I really don't want you to leave." Tristan nudges his nose against the curly-haired boy's before connecting their lips.
The smaller boy slides off the swing when he pulls away and nuzzles his face in his chest. "Promise me you'll be okay?"
"You should promise me you'll be okay," Tristan says, gripping the younger boy by his shoulders and repositioning him in front of him. Brad self-consciously looks down causing Tristan to cup his face in his hands and force him to look into his eyes. "Please no more purging."
"It'll make you happy?"
"More than happy," he automatically replies.
"Then I'll try."
The blond frowns at this. "Try?"
"I don't want to let you down if it ends up happening again, Tris."
"Okay," he whispers, kissing him again. "I'll accept that, I guess."
Brad spots his dad's vehicle heading towards the parking lot of the playground, concluding their conversation. He sucks in a breath and turns back to the taller boy. "Well, I guess this is goodbye for now."
"Sadly." Tristan pulls him into a hug that Brad never wants to walk away from. "We only live like an hour away from each other, anyway. I'm sure we'll have plenty of opportunites to be together, right?"
"Of course." He hesitantly pulls away from Tristan's embrace and waves him off before turning away and slowly walking towards his dad's car. This has been quite a night, Brad thinks as he climbs into the passenger's seat, recapping everything that had happened, starting from him entering the bowling alley. It doesn't even feel like those hours of his life even happened due to the disparity of everything right now from the beginning of his day: how happy he feels, how okay everything is. It feels like nothing could interrupt his happiness.
"Who's that?" his dad asks, questioningly eyeing the tiny figure walking through the darkness.
Brad looks out the car window, a small smile growing on his face at the sight of Tristan's silhouette plopping down on a swing and pushing himself forth into the air. "A friend," the teenager simply replies, strapping on his seatbelt.
. . .
"I shouldn't be eating this," James voices as he rips open his fourth candy bar that afternoon and carelessly chucks the wrapper somewhere in his bedroom. "Why can't milk chocolate have zero calories? Why do you have to be so bad for me, Chocolate?"
"James," Con warns, "what did I say about talking to your food?"
"That it makes me sound insane," the older boy replies, waving his friend off before looking at the candy bar again with a frown. "I really shouldn't eat you."
Connor face-palms.
"I'll burn the calories off later," James verbally decides, even though Brad's sure he's talking to himself, before devouring the candy bar entirely in a second. Brad watches, amazed. He extends his arm over to James's nightstand and slowly hands him the only chocolate-free napkin resting on it. "Thanks," the older boy says, tugging his lips into a smile full of chocolate. Brad just slowly nods, pulling his wide eyes away from the mess of James McVey.
Connor pushes three bags of crisps off James's bed before plopping down. "You're scaring Brad, James."
"No, I'm not," James denies, wiping his mouth clean with the napkin Brad handed him. He furrows his eyebrows at the curly-haired boy nervously shifting in his sitting position. "Wait, you're not scared, are you?"
"More like uncomfortable," Brad replies.
"Sorry. Okay, I'm going to stop eating," the seventeen-year-old says before pulling the lid off of a heart shaped box and silently slipping a piece of chocolate into his mouth. "I fucking hate Valentine's Day."
"It's okay to be single on Valentine's Day," Connor reassures him for the hundredth time since they came to his house.
"I'm single on Valentine's Day," Brad adds, shrugging, even though he's not quite positive how entirely true that statement is. But Tristan and him haven't talked about their relationship status in the past week they've started talking to each other again. "And today, my ex-boyfriend bought me a boutique of flowers signed Ana."
"That's harsh," James mumbles, staring down at his chocolate box with his hand hovering over it, like he's carefully contemplating which chocolate to eat.
"Yeah, and humiliating when everyone except you knows what's inside of the card," he angrily adds. Brad doesn't mention the dozens of anonymous chocolate boxes he received throughout the day. He wondered all morning if people were trying their hardest to infuriate him or if they were just that oblivious enough to think Brad would actually eat them.
The older boy's silent for a short period of time before quietly asking: "Did everyone laugh at you when you received them?"
Brad nods, mentally cringing at the memory of him throwing all the roses away as his peers snickered behind him. "Yeah."
"Okay." James smiles and places the lid on top of the chocolate box. "That makes me feel like less of a loser."
The curly-haired boy frowns as Connor lets out a laugh. "Brad is quite a loser, isn't he?"
"Yeah." James chuckles. "We're like his only friends."
"I know, right? He's so lame."
"Okay, I really don't see the humour in any of this," Brad says, angrily crossing his arms over his chest.
"Look at him," the fifteen-year-old loudly whispers. "He's like a little toddler getting upset with you for taking too long on the swing set."
"No, he's like an adorable, little teddy bear." Connor nods in agreement.
"I'm not a bloody teddy bear!" Brad angrily tells them. James falls back onto his pillows, bursting out into laughter along with Connor.
"We're messing with you." The younger boy rolls his blue eyes and throws one of James's chocolates at Brad. It hits the sixteen-year-old on the forehead and lands somewhere on the bed.
"Ow." He furrows his brows at Connor and rubs his forehead.
"Thanks for making me feel better, guys," James says, smiling at the two boys. "Now let's see how badly Instagram will make me want to fling myself off a bridge."
"Bad idea," Brad tells him as Connor jumps up from the bed, already heading towards James's bedroom door.
"No," the older boy disagrees, once again tending to his heart shaped chocolate box. "Sometimes people need to ride a boat that doesn't float."
The curly-haired boy stares at him blankly. "I don't know what that means, but whatever."
"Just nod understandingly and walk away," Connor whispers, grabbing the older boy by the arm and dragging him to the door.
"See you later." James waves his two friends off, and then magically disappears underneath his blankets before they even have a chance to leave.
"That was interesting," Brad says to Connor after he closes James's bedroom door behind himself.
The younger boy nods as they both jog down the two sets of staircases leading to the bottom floor of James's house. "Remind me not to talk to James next Valentine's Day."
"I'm with you on that one."
By the time the sixteen-year-old arrives home, the sun is slowly disappearing behind his house and the sky's darkening. Brad lets out a yawn and stretches his arms, pleased that the shit holiday is finally coming to an end. He couldn't careless that he's kind of single on Valentine's Day. The holiday has never meant much of anything to him, anyway. But the shit people at school seem to make it their life mission to be the cause of the sixteen-year-old's unhappiness. He's been trying his best not to care from the moment he received the first chocolate box today, but the more he thinks about it, the more it seems to bother him.
The curly-haired boy pushes open the car door and rubs two fist over his heavy eyelids. "'m going to sleep," Brad informs his dad as they walk up to the door. "I already ate dinner at James's."
"I don't believe you," Brad's dad simply replies, unlocking the front door to the house. It's pitch black when he pushes the door open. His dad feels around for the light switch before the house is illuminated and Jesse is happily trotting over to Brad. "I never believe you when you say you eat."
"I have something every night," the curly-haired boy argues. Even if it's just water or apple juice, but whatever, Brad thinks.
"I don't believe you," he repeats. "But I'm not telling Mum, because we know she'll go mad. So if you just agree to eat a little bit for me every night, I'll let it slide."
"But I already -" Brad's stupid stomach interrupts his sentence and loudly growls. The teenager squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath, wishing he could just vanish into thin air.
"I'll make you a sandwich," he says after a period of silence before disappearing into the direction of the kitchen.
Stupid stomach, the sixteen-year-old thinks to himself. He slowly walks up the staircase to his bedroom. Wrapping his hand around the doorknob, he tries pushing it open, but stops when something is pushing back against it. He presses his body against the door and shoves it open, a gasp escaping from his lips when he takes in his room.
There's red and pink heart shaped balloons everywhere, taking up every space in his room. Brad elbows through all the balloons until he reaches his bed that's covered with a large teddy bear, a heart reading 'Happy Valentine's Day' sewed in the stuffed animal's hands. The sixteen-year-old searches the teddy bear until he finds a tiny card that reads: Hope you smiled today :) Love, Tris.
A smile finds its way on the curly-haired boy's face as he reads the card over again and again and again until it's etched inside his brain. He plops down on his bed and snuggles into the caramel coloured teddy bear that's nearly as large as him. The sixteen-year-old pulls out his phone, instantly finding Tristan's contact and pressing his phone to his ear.
Before it has a chance to ring a second time, Tristan voice sounds from the other side of the phone: "Hi!" he happily greets, his smile palpable through the phone.
"I just got home," Brad tells him, beaming.
"And?"
"And you're so perfect."
The older boy chuckles. "Nah, but I'm glad you like it."
"'m sorry I didn't get you anything," Brad mumbles. "I wasn't quite sure I was supposed to."
"It's okay. Making you happy is the best present I could ever get."
He shakes his head, even though he knows Tristan can't see him. "So cheesy."
Tristan lets out a laugh. "Yeah, I know."
"Will I be able to see you soon?" the curly-haired boy asks, hopeful.
"Maybe."
Brad pouts, realising how much he actually misses Tristan. It's only been a week since the sixteen-year-old last saw him, but it feels like a year has passed since the time they were together in person. Being away from him hurts way more than Brad expected it to. "I really miss you, Tris."
"I miss you, too," he softly says. "But we're not that far apart. Just an hour, yeah?"
"Feels like universes," Brad mutters, burying his face in his teddy bear's fluffy fur.
"Well, it's not," Tristan reminds him. "I have to go, though. I'm apparently supposed to wash dishes."
Brad pouts. "Okay."
"I hope you had a great day. G'night."
"You, too. Night," he mumbles.
Groaning, the teenager sits up from his bed, noticing Jesse peering into his crowded bedroom. "Look what Tris got me -"
His dog loudly barks and sprints out of the room. Brad accidentally lets out a laugh, remembering Jesse's strange fear of balloons as his dad walks in his bedroom with a sandwich on a plate and a bottle of Ensure. "Whoa, Jack really loves you, doesn't he?"
Brad's smile falters. "Um, yeah."
"I wonder why he didn't stop by," his dad says, setting the plate and bottle on his nightstand. "He spent the whole day over last year."
"Jack's really busy nowadays," Brad informs him. "Maths club and stuff."
"Oh." His son awkwardly nods and takes his sandwich into his hands. "Hopefully it doesn't get in the way of your relationship."
"Right," he mumbles, taking a small bite of the chicken sandwich his father made for him just to have an excuse not to talk. He wishes he had the guts to tell his parents Jack and him broke up a long time ago, but he doesn't know how to bring it up, and he especially doesn't want to talk about why, which he knows will follow his confession. I'll tell them later, Brad decides, trying to force down his sandwich, and then he smiles at the realisation it'll give him more opportunities to be with Tris.
. . .
It's five minutes 'til two when Brad's pulled out of his slumber, the happy dream he was having already slipping away into oblivion. He'd planned before falling asleep to wake up earlier than usual to burn the additional calories his dad forced him to consume hours before. Untangling himself from his blankets and the large teddy bear, he slips on a pair of sneakers and double-knots the shoelaces. Before he climbs down the ladder outside of his window, he grabs Tristan's jacket off the chair in his room and pulls his arms through the baggy sleeves. The weather is still uncomfortably cold as the other mornings Brad decided to go for a run, but it's tolerable. The younger boy plugs in his earphones and pockets his phone before aimlessly jogging down the road, humming along to the music. As he goes down the same route he takes every other morning, somehow his thoughts full of lyrics and drum riffs, migrate to Tristan - Tristan laughing, Tristan smiling, Tristan chewing his bottom lip.
Brad licks his lips, trying to keep himself from smiling like an idiot. But he fails miserably at trying to fight his grin and smiles widely, anyway, cringing when the wind painfully hits his teeth.
He can't wait until he'll be able to hug the blond again and kiss him over and over again. God, this sucks, Brad thinks to himself, forcing himself to push harder and break out into a sprint through the dark neighbourhoods. But he kind of likes caring about someone again, and he loves the feeling of someone caring about him just as much, too. It makes it even better that it's Tristan who cares about him. Brad never thought that'd happen. Thinking back on the first day Brad saw the seventeen-year-old quietly sitting beside him, he would've never guessed he would be this moonstruck over the blond.
Shaking his head free of the blue-eyed boy, he quickens his footsteps and decides going a different direction than last time just to make his morning more adventurous. After a while, he takes in his blurry surroundings, realising he's heading towards the direction of the park. He decides to change his direction over to the outside of the park where he usually runs when he waits for James to come pick him up, assuming it wouldn't be much of a difference running laps around it in the morning instead of the afternoon.
He's not sure how long he runs until he notices the world waking up. Brad decides to push himself two more laps just so it'll be able to help him get through the day, knowing he'll be able to happily run all the way back home before his dad wakes him up to go downstairs for breakfast.
As his favourite part in Brianstorm by Arctic Monkeys plays, he automatically speeds up and turns, sprinting past a corner before unbearable pain courses throughout his ankle and he's losing his balance, tumbling to the concrete as a bloodcurling scream erupts from his mouth.